letters of memory
by januarylightsphere
Summary: [America/Nyo!Japan] AU: She laughed, and it was like the sound of the chime, gone with the wind and spread happiness over the world.


**disclaimer: **My friend, the keyword here is fanfiction.

**warnings: **nyotalia, grammar errors.

i kind of like that one.

it's for **Crazy Anime Maniac** - I LOVE YOU!

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><p><em>"When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love."<em>

_-Marcus Aurelius_

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><p>I had a dream, so real that it scared me a little. In my dream, there were only black and white. There was no high building, no traffic light. I was standing in a long and wide and quiet road, no dirt, no people. I was holding a bag of letters and an old book, some pages were yellow and torn, some pages were still perfectly kept. Curiously, I turned a page, the surrounding suddenly changed. Then I was looking at a white door – I knew it was white, this place was familiar – with daisies and chrysanthemums around. The front door was painted green, if I remembered correctly. It was my maternal grandfather's house, and the short black-haired girl stepping out was my Mom. She was hugging her bag, seemed to wait for someone. Few minutes later, a boy came to pick her up. They walked to school together, chatting happily, all created an image of happiness. It was hard not to smile at them. They passed a blond haired boy with hamburger in his mouth and nonchalant attitude. Mom smiled at him, but he was too busy eating to answer properly, so he replied with a nod. That boy, I giggled at that thought, is my Dad. This must be the past, when they were still classmates.<p>

xxx

The old notebook turned out to be Mom's diary. I sighed wistfully at her handwriting, if only mine could be like that, Dad said that my mother was just so uptight that her handwriting was neat and straight and perfect all the time, and it was awesome of me to have handwriting like his. Dad said that Mom wasn't that beautiful when she was at high school, just her charm was somehow irresistible. Mom remembered Dad as a hamburger lover, moody teenager that freaked anyone out, a hero-complex kid. I turned a page. The whole thing changed again. Mom was doing her homework in library, and accidentally, Dad was sitting opposite to her. Of course, he didn't give a damn about library rules as he brings his food in. Thirty-minutes, and Dad was starting to doze off. Fifteen minutes, he took off his glasses and gave in to his desire. Mom was still calmly doing her work. Half an hour later, when she closed her book and stood up to go home, she noticed Dad was using her bag to rest his head. She gave a sigh of exasperation, sat back down and waited. She once told me that she had to wait for hours and had already finished one book. Dad didn't agree, he said he only closed his eyes for twenty minutes or so, but when he woke up, it'd been sunset, and Mom was still reading. He sounded surprised, hands flying on the table as if to find something.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"It seems that you haven't slept enough, and I have plenty of time." She said, giving him his glasses.

"Next time you should wake me up. It's really unheroic of me to waste your time."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Er… I did."

"Then you didn't waste my time." Her voice was so soft that I almost missed it.

Dad said it was the first time he'd actually paid attention to her, an Asian girl that was never quite eye-catching. Mom said it was the first time she'd met someone as annoying as him, so she started to observe him as well. In this diary, she wrote that every time she studied in library, he always sat there, sometimes ate hamburger, sometimes played games, and sometimes just stared at the sharp line of horizon, but he always helped her get the book she needed. There was one time when he needed to go up and down the ladder for many times because those reference books were too high for her, she said:

"You don't seem to be annoying as I thought."

"What? You think I'm annoying?"

"You appear annoying, but totally likeable." She said, walking towards their usual table, her back to his. If she had looked back, she would have seen his face flushed red.

xxx

I opened the first letter, this time, I was in an empty classroom. Obviously, this was too early for anyone to come. Dad, seventeen, was holding an envelope, standing awkwardly in front of a desk. If the desk could feel anything, it'd probably run away under his stare.

"Alright…" I heard him mutter to himself. "I can do it, as a hero. I can do it." He put on a determined face and was about to place the letter in the drawer -

"My desk is next to." Dad startled, left arm hit the edge, and he grimaced in pain. Upon seeing Mom stand at the door, he hastily hid the letter behind his back. Now I knew why this first letter was more wrinkled than others. Mom held out her hand, smiled: "Is it mine? Do you mind giving it to me?"

Dad hesitated, then gave her with his unharmed hand, remained silent. Mom asked:

"Can I read it right now?"

Dad shook his head repeatedly.

"Did you write something embarrassing?" Dad nodded, then shook his head again, ears red.

Mom giggled, shoulder-length hair swayed slightly in the wind.

I smiled, so this was the 'epic beginning' that Dad told me about (of course, with his being heroic and my mother adored him and Mom only sighed.)

In the letter wrote one word 'Hello', so big in the centre, whereas the signature 'Alfred F. Jones' was surprisingly small.

My Dad knew nothing about romantic, Mom used to say, but she liked this first letter every much, because when I found it, it was kept perfectly, even though Dad wrinkled it a bit.

xxx

I opened another one. The place changed. Mom was standing on the balcony, chatting with one of her Asian friends, but I caught her occasionally glance down at the boys who were playing football in the schoolyard. Dad was wearing his rarely serious expression. Mom said Dad was one of the brightest students, and had girls follow him too, but he treated every girl the same. He suddenly looked up and caught Mom's eyes. She smiled. He was caught off guard for a moment, and the ball struck arms. Mom laughed. His ears turned red. Her laugh was like the sound of wind chime ringing, over and over in the air. In this letter, she teased if she wanted him to lose in a football match, all she had to do was to wave and smile at him. He wrote back: "The hero will not be distracted."

xxx

I turned to the third, the handwriting was a bit messy. Dad and Mom were eighteen. I saw Dad get off the train, and ran as fast as he could. Many pieces of paper flew out of his bag, which he seemed to have forgotten to close, but he didn't mind. He crashed into some people, hastily apologized and ran again. Finally, when he caught sight of Mom's front door, he stopped and panted. Mom was waiting for him, she thought he wouldn't make it since the letter was sent this morning. Dad was sweating, his coat hung loosely around his waist.

"I'm worried." He said quietly. Mom shook her head, eyes red because of crying. Dad pulled her into a hug, awkwardly, he stood still and stiff while she was sobbing. He said "Kiku, I'm sorry" repeatedly until all the sounds got carried by the wind.

My grandfather had passed away.

xxx

I read the fourth letter. It was the first time they had argued, because Dad hid his injury from Mom. He didn't want her to worry about him. When Mom knew, he had been in hospital for three days. I was standing in the hall, watching Mom run pass me, hair wet from washing and feet wearing mismatched socks. She didn't even bother to ask for the room number, just opened each door until Dad's room.

But when their eyes met, he asked: "What're you doing here? Go home." Mom said never before in her life had she wanted to punch someone that much.

Dad meant 'I'm alright, don't worry about me', but he was never good at expressing himself, and it caused misunderstanding. Mom fixed him with a stare, eyes blank and suddenly cold: "What am I to you, Alfred?"

And she walked away, leaving Dad behind staring longingly at her back. Later that night, I saw Dad tried to sit straight on his bed, writing a letter to apologize, said that he'd never meant to upset her. I looked at the letter, at the ugly handwriting due to the pain. "I don't want to see you cry because of me." Mom said she didn't even bother to read those words above, all she could remember was that last line. I could understand why, it was probably the most romantic thing he gave her.

xxx

The letters increased as time went by. Dad had to study in a different city, but they keep in touch, Dad said it'd be more meaningful than those e-mail – if I didn't heard him say so himself, I'd never believe – and even though it took one month, two months, or even six months to reply, they kept doing it. There was one time that Dad took to long to reply, Mom wrote him, saying that she was seeing the boy who used to walk her to school. The response was immediately: "Really?" The morning after, Dad appeared at Mom's front door, claimed the hero had come to save her from evil hands. Mom sighed, but she was looking at him fondly as she said she was only joking, because she thought he'd already forgotten her.

"I'm a hero, remember? And a hero doesn't forget. I will never forget you." Dad said without hesitance. Mom smiled, only Dad was that naïve, he believed in every word she said without questioning. The one Mom dragged into this mess was Uncle Arthur, who always complained Mom had made in a bad guy. He and Dad were good friends, but that didn't prevent Dad from dragging him out of bed at one in the morning just to ask 'Is it true that you're going out with Kiku?" Uncle Arthur had hit him in the head, I heard.

Mom and Dad stopped writing to each other two years later, and five years had passed, the letters were replaced with the image of a baby toddler.

xxx

I woke up at the loud sound of alarm clock, body aching for falling asleep on the floor. Last night, I found some old letters of my parents. Mom kept them carefully. What I saw in my dream was so real, so full of happiness that I didn't want to wake up. I went down to the kitchen, only to see that Dad was preparing breakfast. Today was a special day, so Dad was cooking. Mom once said if they didn't want the house to explode, Dad would never be allowed in the kitchen, no matter how good hamburger he made. But the house was still in shape, so I didn't say anything. We ate in silence. If there was one time Dad kept silent, it was today.

"I found your old letters yesterday."

He looked at me, and I smiled.

"Why do you look so happy? They're old."

"Dad, they're treasure." Then I added. "Dad, if you find someone you love, I won't be angry."

He was clearly taken back. My yesterday self would have never said something like that, but my today self had witnessed their love, and it was the most precious memory. But I knew, memory was only memory. Mom has passed away for five years. I knew Dad loved Mom, but I knew I wouldn't want Dad to be sad.

Dad just kept eating.

Today, we were going to visit Mom's grave. In my dream, which I was sure it was real, Dad said he didn't want Mom to worry about him, and I thought Mom wanted to tell him that too.

"Dad, Mom wouldn't want you to be sad because of her."

When Dad looked at me, I had the feeling that he was searching for Mom, for her approval to move forth. I smiled at him before going upstair to collect their letters and Mom's diary. When I was back downstair, Dad was staring at Mom's photo, his blue eyes longing. I had no idea how long it'd take Dad to move on, to free himself from the memories, but that day would come eventualy. As I looked at those letters in my head, I remembered Mom's laughter that day. It was soft and light and echoing like the sound of the chime – all gone with the wind and spread happiness over the world.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong>F**INALLY I'M DONE. HONESTLY THIS ONE TAKES A LOT OF SWEAT AND TEARS.**

**I really hope you like it, all of you.**

**Pretty please review to tell me what you think.**


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